Authors: Carey Green
“I got your message.”
“I know,” Jonathan said. “That’s why I’m here. How bad is it?”
“The operation has been breached. They know about the existence of Fazziz.”
“Fazziz?” Jonathan asked, a look of concern suddenly appearing on his face. “How did they find out?”
“Cash and his associate were able to hack the codes.”
“He must have had help,” Jonathan said. “Everything was secure. We made sure of it.”
“Supposedly. But how do we really know what Corbin did? Besides, the kid Cash hired is some type of computer genius. He was able to cut through encryption that came straight from the NSA. Only way he got in, unless Ray completely screwed it up. Where is Fazziz now?” “Out of the country,” Jonathan said, “On his way back to the Middle East.” Jonathan suddenly shifted his position in his chair, as he changed the topic of conversation. “What about the money? Is it secure?”
“As far as we know. From what Cash has been able to do, the second set of trades has done okay. In other words, Corbin didn’t lose the other half of the money.”
“I see. I liked Cash when I met him, but he’s even better than I thought he was. He should be working for us. We could use a man like him.”
“We could use the kid, too.”
“Yeah,” Jonathan said, “Wouldn’t it be grand. Unfortunately, it’s too late for that.” Jonathan raised his hand and looked at the strapping Rolex attached to his wrist. “We have ten days until we go live with Phoenix. It’s time to terminate the operation.”
Highland looked up, unsure of what to say. Jonathan’s face was stoic and stony.
“Terminate?”
“Dan, you used FBI agents to perform surveillance on an operation sanctioned by the government of the United States. Do you understand the implications of your actions?”
“I know that, but we agreed: Ray was too erratic. We needed to know what was going on. He was refusing my phone calls, as well as yours. After what happened with Luke, I felt we needed an edge; a way to perform surveillance. I thought it was a viable course of action, considering the fact that we were pulling out in several weeks anyway.”
“I agreed at the time, but now, the situation has spun completely out of control.”
“I realize that. But what about the money?”
“We’ll make other use of it in the short term, but for now, we have to move it.” Highland leaned back to take all of this in. The implications were far greater than what he had imagined. He leaned forward with his hands on his knees.
“What about Ray?”
“That’s why I am here. The chain of command has officially been changed. Ray is out.”
“Are you sure?”
“Too many lapses in judgment, too many poor decisions. I’ve made my decision. It’s time to cut our losses. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I understand.”
“Is our secondary plan in place?”
“Yes. Everything is ready. The decoy is in play.”
“Good. Then execute it the pan. I’ll be off the grid for a few days. If you need to establish communication, use the emergency protocol.”
“Will do.”
Highland stood up and downed his Scotch. Jonathan stood up with him.
“The next time I see you, our mission should be complete.”
“I know.”
“Everything we’ve worked for will come to fruition.”
“Just like we planned it.”
“Good. Do your duty. I will see you on the other side.” Jonathan and Highland hugged again before Highland left the aircraft.
The first sign that something was amiss was when he tried to open the apartment door. The closet foyer door was open and was blocking his path of entry. Dylan struggled with the door for several more seconds, using his arm to unblock the entry. When he entered the apartment, he wished that he never had opened the door.
The foyer led directly to the kitchen, just off to the left. The door to the refrigerator was open, and its contents were now resting on the kitchen floor. Broken eggshells were resting in a lake of milk and orange juice. A six pack of beer was now broken bottles. He closed the door, thinking perhaps it might have been an accident. Walking into the living room, confirmed it was no accident.
The cushions from the sofa had been tossed across the room, and his bookshelf had been overturned. Books were now scattered across the room, and his CD and DVD collection had been scattered about the room like frisbees. The glass coffee table had been smashed. Dylan paused for a moment to let his head catch up to his racing heart. The intruders had been thorough in their work. Papers were strewn throughout the apartment, and they had not missed a single spot. He removed his shoes, so he wouldn’t track mess throughout the apartment.
Dylan entered his bedroom and was greeted by a sea of feathers. The down comforter had been ripped to shreds and was lying in tatters on the floor. The sheets had been ripped off the bed, and Dylan could see a large wet stain on the surface of the mattress. He didn’t need to get close to the bed to know what the stain was; the smell of urine permeated the air. Everything else had been ignored: the watches, the stereo, even a pile of cash that was sitting in his desk drawer. He then looked in the small alcove where he kept his desk and computer. He noticed that only his computer was gone. Whatever they were looking for was of specific interest to them, and they were interested in him, then surely they would be interested in Binky. Dylan thoughts turned to finding him, as quickly as possible.
He dialed Binky’s home phone, his cell, and his number on the trading floor. There was no answer. It was now 10 p.m. He was trying to avoid panicking, but his thoughts seemed to constantly return to the worst. After pacing the apartment for several minutes, side-stepping his positions that had been dumped on the floor, he headed downstairs and hailed a taxi.
Dylan knew the best place to look for Binky was at the office. He probably wasn’t answering the phone on the trading floor, since no one would think to call him there. The issue of the cell phone was more puzzling, but perhaps his battery had died. When he arrived at the Corbin Brothers office, the lone security guard downstairs checked his ID. Dylan headed upstairs to the offices.
Upon entering the office he made his way towards the trading floor. Dylan moved stealthily throughout the hallways and offices, careful not to make any sudden movements or sounds. Though he knew the traders would be gone, there were occasionally operational or administrative employees working late. He did not want to see anyone or be seen, especially at that time of night. It would only heighten suspicions about him. He encountered no one as he walked onto the floor.
Binky’s desk was covered with the usual clutter: his books, papers, and reports strewn all over, a half-empty bottle of green tea waiting to be finished; nothing out of the ordinary. Dylan stared at the desk for several minutes, collecting his thoughts as to what he should be looking for. It was only then that he noticed that Binky’s computer had been turned off. This was a sure sign that something was wrong.
Binky never turned his computer off. He believed in the idea that a solid-state device such as a computer should never be powered down, save the occasional need to recycle the software. Dylan looked at the monitor and flipped the power switch. Nothing. The monitor was also off. The computer itself was located beneath Binky’s desk, placed in a cabinet primarily for aesthetic reasons. Dylan got on his knees and crawled beneath Binky’s desk.
Below the desk, he opened the cabinet that contained the PC’s CPU. He pushed the power button on the front of machine. The flashing status lights of the computer failed to illuminate. Dylan looked at the machine quizzically. The cabinet had a sliding rack that allowed the PC to slide forward and out of the cabinet. Dylan pulled it forward to examine the PC.
He spun the CPU around to examine its rear. It was still plugged in to the power-strip located inside the cabinet, and the power strip was still illuminated. Dylan examined the connections and found everything intact. He then noticed that a single screw from the computers cabinet had dropped onto the floor beneath Binky’s desk.
It was improbable that the screw had been there for long, because of the thoroughness of the midnight cleaning crew. The machine had been tampered with, probably recently. Dylan climbed up from beneath Binky’s desk and slid over to his own desk. He opened his drawer and removed the Swiss army knife that he had owned since college. He considered it to be his lucky charm. More than once it had come in useful: prying open a PC or cap top bottle. It had never been there at a more useful time.
He slid back beneath Binky’s desk and began to unscrew the bolts of the CPU. There were six of them in all. He slid the case off and examined the hardware. During college he used to fix PC’s as a work-study student in the campus computer lab. The technology had gotten faster but had not changed much. He took his hand and touched the Pentium microprocessor chip, careful to use the palm of his hand, less he be burned from the tremendous heat that the chip produced. It was still hot. The computer had probably been off for only an hour. He then looked in the bay where the hard drive resided, only to find that it was empty. For a moment he thought that maybe the drive was in a different location or position. But then he saw the cables cut and dangling from where the hard-drive had been. Whoever had taken it had done a quick and hasty job. Dylan placed the case back on the computer, not even bothering to re-screw the case. He slipped the Swiss army knife into his pocket.
Dylan’s only hope was that wherever Binky was, the hard-drive was with him. Binky was the kind of computer hacker who would go to infinite levels to chase down the right data. He could often diagnose a problem down to the hardware level. It was possible that Binky had run into a type of encryption that could only be found by physically dissecting the hardware. Dylan was praying that this was the reason, as he couldn’t think of a more logical one. He hurried downstairs and took a cab to Binky’s apartment.
Dylan got out of the cab on East 85th street and Second Avenue. Binky’s block was lined with the type of post-collegiate bars and watering holes that he had frequented as a light of pocket twenty-two year old. He walked down Binky’s block, a typical assortment of low-rent tenement walkups popular amongst the bright young hopefuls who frequented the corner establishments. He wondered if Binky’s parents held their noses when and if they visited his apartment from their Greenwich estate or 5th Avenue
pied-a-terre
.
Dylan walked up the stoop to the doorway of Binky’s building. The building seemed particularly run down for the area. A huge heap of garbage greeted visitors at the curb, and the intercom box looked like it had been installed by Alexander Graham Bell himself. There was no doorman. Cards of various locksmiths rested in the vestibule window. Dylan buzzed Binky’s apartment on the intercom and got no answer. He made his way down the vestibule in front the building.
Dylan waited to gain easy access to the building. After a few minutes it dawned on him how. Rain or shine, snow or sleet, someone in Manhattan was always ordering Chinese food. After a few minutes, an Asian man with a baseball cap, white frock, and several delivery bags appeared. He waited for the deliveryman to be buzzed into the building, and Dylan nonchalantly walked up behind him and followed him in.
He walked up the three flights of stairs towards Binky’s door. He knocked on the door several times, but there was no answer. He then repeated the sequence again. He thought of various ways to get in the apartment but found that none of them were necessary: he tried to handle on the apartment door and found that it was unlocked.
Binky’s apartment consisted of a living room, a small kitchen, and a tiny alcove bedroom. Dylan ventured throughout the apartment looking for any piece of information that might assist him in finding out what had happened. The place was so small that he found himself walking in circles. The whole apartment must have been less than four hundred square feet. Binky’s apartment was a study in contrasts, the low-rent apartment with high-end items such as a Bose stereo and a thirty-six inch plasma TV. Binky was slumming in a cradle of luxury.
The contents of his closet and bureaus now rested squarely in the middle of the floor, next to a pile of movies and stacks of DVDs. Binky’s apartment was full of books, and the bookshelves had been overturned. Dylan picked up several CDs off the floor, and placed them on the kitchen table. He then walked into the bedroom.
The small desk in his bedroom area was where Binky had kept his computer, and Dylan could tell that someone had been looking for something in a hurry. Dylan stepped gingerly across the mess to reach Binky’s desk, only to realize that Binky’s iPhone was starting right at him.
Whoever had disassembled the computer in the Corbin Brothers office had not done nearly as neat a job on Binky’s PC. The computer was still on the floor in various pieces, the case removed and off to the side. The wires from the motherboard, where the disk drive would be, were off to the side and dangled free. Dylan used the same technique he had used in the office; using his hand to gauge the temperature of the chip. It was as cold as ice.
He found a plastic bag, wrapped the iPhone in it, and placed it in his pocket. He closed the door and left the apartment.
Dylan called Vanessa on her cell phone. She was in a restaurant downtown having dinner with friends. Dylan took a taxi downtown to meet her. When he arrived at the restaurant, she met him outside on the street.
“Your message was rambling. What the hell happened?”
“Someone broke into my place and Binky is missing! I’ve been trying to find him all night.”
“How do you know he’s missing?”
“I went up to his apartment, and it was a wreck; the same as mine.”
“Ok, but what makes you think he’s missing?”
“I couldn’t reach him on his phone.”
“I believe you Dylan, but maybe he just forgot his phone.” Dylan shook his head in disbelief.
“It’s not like him to disappear like this. I called his folks, and I called a couple of his buddies. No one has heard from him.”